


Sacrifice of the White Goat

by clgfanfic



Category: Soldier of Fortune Inc.
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team faces a little ooga-booga on a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrifice of the White Goat

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Black Ops #2 and later in Watch Your Six #2 with Mary Fallon Zane.

**Silver Star Hotel**

**Hermosa Beach, CA**

**2330 Hours**

 

          Matthew Shepherd tossed his pen into the crack of the open ledger, then leaned back in his chair and stretched.  He felt the muscles in his shoulders slowly begin to relax, allowing the weariness knotted there to settle into his bones.  _Christ, I'm tired_ , he thought, the realization prompting a huge yawn.

          "It's not _that_ late," a voice commented with no small amount of amusement.  "You must be getting old just like the rest of us."

          The ex-Army major grinned sheepishly and shrugged.  "Not just yet, Trout, not just yet.  It's these freakin' books.  I'm not cut out to be a damned accountant."

          "Hire someone," Xavier Trout replied as he stepped into Shepherd's basement office from the doorway.  He sat on the small couch that took up almost all of one wall.

          Shepherd shook his head.  "Can't afford to do that until I get this hotel open again, or turn the place into a bar."

          "A bar?" Trout asked, his eyebrows arching.

          "Hey, it's a living."

          "You have a living, Shepherd.  American hero, remember?"

          That forced a smile onto Matt's lips.  "Yeah, and that and a quarter won't even pay for a phone call these days."

          "After what I have for you, you might just be able to hire that accountant."

Shepherd leaned back in his chair, his expression turning serious.  "We're not mercenaries, Trout, you know that."

          "I never said you were."  The older man levered off the sofa and walked over to the desk.  Tugging an envelope free from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, he handed it to Shepherd.  "This is serious, Matt.  A man's life is on the line, and his family's."

          Shepherd opened the envelope and pulled out the papers inside.  While he read, Trout returned to the couch and sat down again, waiting.  When Matt was done, he set the pages aside on his desk and looked over at his old commander.  "Okay, let me see if I got her story straight; some Congressman decides that a voodoo queen can help him win an election, and now she's what?  Haunting them?  What's that got to do with us?"

"He did win, Matt," Trout said.  "And he's not a Congressman anymore, he was just elected to the Senate this year."

          The snort stated clearly that Shepherd didn't think either victory was brought about by magic.  "What do you want, Trout?" he asked.  "It's late.  I want to go to bed."

          The older man leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  His expression was grave.  "Senator Richard Castillo, an Independent from New York.  His constituents are a mix of Puerto Ricans, Haitians, and immigrants from the Dominican Republic.  Castillo was born to poor parents, who entered the country illegally.  He never did well in school, but he got to college on a baseball scholarship.  His grades there were mediocre – at best.  After college he held a series of what he considered dead-end jobs.  And then he entered politics, starting with his local school board and working his way up.  Somewhere along the way, he also became involved, covertly of course, with a group of Santeria practitioners.  It was after that association that he actually began to win meaningful elections."

          Matt leaned further back, crossing his arms over his chest.  "Don't tell me you buy this voodoo crap," he snorted.

          Trout shrugged.  "What I believe isn't important.  Senator Castillo believes."

          "I still don't see why you need us."

          "Castillo's fight for the Senate was politically bloody and very expensive.  In fact, no one believed he could win against the Democratic and Republican challengers."  The older man stood and paced in the small office as he continued, "Castillo turned to his old friend, Dominga Alvorado, a Santeria high priestess."  Matt started to object, but Trout held up his hand to forestall any comments.  "Castillo won the election by less than 700 votes.  As a Senator, he was assigned to several committees, including one that reviews the budgets of several, shall we say, less than well known government organizations."

          "Including yours?" Shepherd asked, his eyebrows climbing slightly.

          Trout shook his head.  "Thank goodness.  But Castillo knows about several other groups and organizations that we prefer remain… out of the public domain, shall we say."

          "Okay, I understand why you're interested.  Where is he?"

          "Cat Island, in the Bahamas."

          "Vacation?"

          "No."

          Matt leaned forward, beginning to look interested.  "And?  What _aren't_ you telling me, Trout?"

          "Castillo's wife said that her husband stated that he owed Señora Alvorado for his Senate victory…  She asked the Senator for their oldest son, Edward."

          Matt's eyes widened.  "Castillo's son?"

          Trout nodded.  "Naturally the Senator refused.  Three days later Edward was killed, shot to death while he was sitting in his car at a red light.  He was twenty years old, no history of gang involvement or drug use.  The police said he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Señora Alvorado attended the young man's funeral.  She expressed her sympathy to the Senator and his wife, and then asked Castillo for his oldest daughter, Ana Marie, in payment for his victory."

          Matt cocked his head.  "Let me guess, he said no and she died, too."

          "You're catching on," Trout said, sitting down again and leaning back.

"How?"

"She died in her sleep.  The coroner's report said it was an aneurysm.  She was sixteen years old and in perfect health."

"I take it Castillo didn't buy the ME's report."

Trout shook his head.  "Not according to his wife.  He was convinced that Alvorado was behind his children's deaths, but he couldn't go to the authorities.  His wife wanted him to go to the police, begged him to, but he refused."

Matt nodded.  "How would it look when the press got a hold of the story – U.S. Senator in league with Voodoo queen."

"Exactly.  The Senator decided to handle things himself.  He hired someone to… scare Alvorado off."

Matt leaned forward.  "And?"

"Three days ago the Castillos' youngest child, Rosella, disappeared.  According to Mrs. Castillo, the Señora called the Senator.  She told him to come to Cat Island personally or his remaining child would also die.  He told his wife he was going to go get their daughter and left for the island.  Mrs. Castillo waited twenty-four hours, and when she still hadn't heard from her husband, she went to a friend of the family, a Secret Service agent."

"And now you're here," Matt concluded.

"We haven't been able to locate the Senator or his daughter.  But Dominga Alvorado flew to Nassau the day before yesterday.  She had a traveling companion, too.  A young girl.  The girl's passport said she was Maria Alvorado, the Señora's grand-daughter."

"But I take it she wasn't the granddaughter?" Shepherd asked.

"No."

"How old is the girl?"

"Rosella's tenth birthday is next week."

"Are they still on Cat Island?"

Trout nodded.  "Keyhole satellite data has tracked Alvorado to three locations she seems to be using.  And, we have an asset – not an operative any more, but someone who continues to pass along valuable information – on the island who confirmed Señora Alvorado is using these three locations."  Trout fished into another pocket and handed Matt a map.  "If she's there, so are the Senator and his daughter.  Alive, we hope.  I need you and your people to go in there and get them out."

Shepherd sighed, then nodded.  "We'll start tomorrow morning.  We should be ready to leave by late afternoon, provided that you can get the paperwork we need together.  It's a little short notice, even for Margo."  
          "I'll have everything you need by 1400 tomorrow," Trout said, standing.  "Thank you, Matt."

Shepherd nodded.  "We're going to need a cover."

"I've been thinking about that…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 

**The next day**

**The Silver Star**

**1000 Hours**

 

Shepherd studied the faces of his operators.  He could tell they were already thinking ahead, looking for ways to extricate Alvorado, ways to get on and off the island, ways to blend in with the local population, what weapons they might need.  A ghost of a smile folded the corners of his mouth.  He was a very lucky man.

Margo was the first to ask the most obvious, pressing question, "How do we enter the island without drawing attention to ourselves?  I doubt they're going to think we're all there on an office vacation."

Shepherd nodded.  "We'll go in with separate cover stories, different modes of transpo."

"That's going to take some time to arrange," Margo challenged, looking worried.  Shepherd had said they needed to leave A-S-A-P.

"Time we don't have if we're leaving today," Chance added.

Matt nodded.  "I know, but it'll be easier than you think.  Trout's people are already working on it for us.  It'll be ready when we are.  Margo and I will go together," he explained, his gaze darting in her direction almost shyly.  When her eyebrows arched in curiosity, he added, "A second honeymoon."

"Ah, the advantages of command," C.J. sighed, shaking his head sadly.

Chance and Benny Ray grinned.

"A second honeymoon?" Margo echoed.

Matt ignored her amused comment.  "C.J., Trout's in-country asset says that the locals have some kind of home-grown musical movement going on.  You're a drummer—"

"In his dreams," Chance muttered under his breath.

C.J. shot the man a scathing glare.

Matt pressed on.  "You'll go in as a music industry type looking to score some money off the locals."

C.J. grinned, puffing out his chest and looking pleased with himself.  "I think I can pull that off."

Shepherd turned to Chance.  "How's your island accent?"

The black man shrugged.  "That depends, mon."

Matt winced.  "Okay, fine, you and Benny Ray will play American tourists.  Take your scuba and deep sea fishing gear.  That'll be real enough if anyone checks you out."

The two men nodded.

"When do we go, Major?" the sniper asked.

"This afternoon," Shepherd said.  "Go get what you need and meet me back here in three.  We'll lay out the equipment then.  Trout should have our papers and plane tickets, too."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 

 

 

**The same day**

**The Silver Star**

**1400 Hours**

 

          Trout handed plane tickets out to each of the operators.  "These will take you to Miami – three different flights, two different airlines.  You'll head to the island tomorrow.  Rooms have already been reserved for you at different hotels in Miami.  The reservation information is in with your tickets.  There are no landing strips on Cat Island.  Matt, Ms. Vincent, you'll take a charter flight from Miami to Nassau tomorrow morning.  The resort you'll be staying at has its own boat that ferries guests from there to the Island."

He turned to Benny Ray and Chance.  "Gentlemen, you'll take a charter flight from Miami to Palm Beach, then over to Freeport, Grand Bahama.  There'll be a rental boat waiting there for you.  It's a Company asset, so there'll be some extras that might come in handy."

"Appreciate that, sir," Benny Ray said, a predatory smile on his lips.

"You'll head straight for Cat Island from there.  We should have a slip reservation arranged for you by then," Trout concluded.

          The two men nodded.

          Trout finally turned to C.J.  "Mr. Yates, there will be a helicopter waiting for you in Miami tomorrow morning.  You'll fly straight to the island."

          The Brit smiled.  "Sweet, very, sweet."

          Chance and Benny Ray rolled their eyes.

          Trout handed Matt a business card.  "Once you're on the Island, give this woman a call.  She has a cellphone.  Don't use the land lines, they're completely unsecured.  She can fill you in on the local situation." 

          "Dr. Alexandria Blackmoon?"

          Trout nodded.  "A well-known anthropologist who's worked for us for many, many years."

          Shepherd's brow furrowed with concern.  "Just how old is this woman?"

          The older man smiled.  "Just call her when you get there. The satellite data hasn't helped us narrow down the possibilities.  If she knows where the Señora is holed up, it'll save you a lot of time.  And time is definitely our enemy."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**The following day**

**1000 hours**

**Cat Island, Bahamas**

 

          Several of the locals stopped what they were doing to watch as the sleek, black helicopter set down at the edge of Old Bight, the largest town on Cat Island.  They shielded their eyes from the bright sunlight with their hands.  A moment later they watched the pilot jump down, then run around to the side of the chopper and open the door.  Whoever was inside must be very important indeed.  A celebrity maybe, an actor or actress, they whispered amongst themselves.

          The man who stepped out caused the small crowd to break into laughter.  He was on the short side, wearing baggy, bright blue shorts that fell to his knees and a yellow Hawaiian shirt that was almost as bright as the sun.  Dark glasses protected his eyes, and he wore expensive all-terrain sport-sandals.  He strode purposefully away from the chopper, leaving the pilot to gather and follow with his luggage.

          Another rich American, the people watching agreed.  But no one they recognized.  He would be staying at the new resort.  "In the biggest suite," one of the men spat, shaking his head.

          "Maybe he will want some company," one of the woman commented.

          "Whore," the man replied.

          She cursed him in Spanish, then turned and continued with her errands.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**The Pink Sands Resort**

**Cat Island**

**1300 hours**

 

          C.J. sat in the resort's well-appointed lounge, sipping on a club soda and watching the other guests come and go.  He saw the horse-drawn surrey pull up outside, the honeymooners climbing out.  Margo was dressed in a bright floral-print summer dress that made her look considerably younger than her almost thirty years.  Matt was dressed in cream-colored dockers and a brick red polo shirt.  They definitely looked the part of a happily married couple.  Margo tilted her head back and smiled as she wrapped an arm around one of Matt's and pressed against him.  He smiled down at her, then fished into his pocket for a tip for the driver.

          A bellboy appeared with a luggage cart, loading their suitcases as the couple headed into the lobby.  While Matt spoke to the young black woman behind the counter, Margo looked around, her eyes wide, a smile on her face.  She spotted C.J., her gaze resting on him just long enough to acknowledge him.  He lifted his glass in a small toast.  Now all they needed were Chance and Benny Ray.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**1600 hours**

 

          After making sure that their gear was well stowed, Benny Ray and Chance tied off their expensive cabin cruiser, grabbed their duffel bags, then walked up in the quay to the dock master's office.  After paying the inflated slip fees they asked about a nice hotel and were immediately referred to the Pink Sands Resort.  They thanked the man, then headed out to hire a taxi.

          At the resort they checked in, Chance grinning at the pretty young black woman standing behind the counter.  She smiled and dipped her head, her dark skin not quite hiding the blush that colored her cheeks.

          As she handed Chance two electronic keys she added, "One of our guests is hosting an open bar this evening from six to seven.  I hope you'll be able to come down and enjoy his generosity."

          "We should be able to manage that," Chance told her.  "When do you get off?"

          "Not until ten," she replied, the blush returning.

          "I hope I'll see you then," he told her.

          "You will," she promised.

          When they reached the elevators, Benny Ray grinned.  "Smooth, very smooth."

          Chance smiled and shrugged.  "It's a gift."

          "It's sure something, that's for damn certain sure," Benny Ray agreed as the door slid shut.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**1815 hours**

 

          Most of the resort's guests wandered through the lounge and atrium, sipping on their free drinks and enjoying the various treats being carried around on trays by the kitchen staff.  Matt and Margo stood near the open wall that looked out on the pink sand beach, watching the sun as it dipped lower in the sky.  It was going to be a beautiful sunset.  They sipped on the same glasses of champagne that they'd picked up earlier.

          Matt's gaze wandered over the guests.  When he spotted Chance and Benny Ray he set his glass down on a small table dominated by a large flowering plant and strode across the room.  It was show time.  "Jason?" he called loudly.

          Chance looked up, then broke into a hearty smile.  He slapped Benny Ray on the shoulder with the back of his hand.  "Hey, that's Matt Anderson," he said, nodding at the approaching man.

The people standing nearby looked from Chance to Matt, wondering if they should recognize either man.  The resort was a known getaway for celebrities and business moguls, but these two men were unfamiliar.

Matt reached Chance and the two men shook hands like they hadn't seen each other for years.

"Matt," Chance greeted, "it's good to see you!"

"How long has it been?" Matt asked, glancing at Benny Ray.

"Too long," was the black man's reply.  "Matt, this is my new business associate, Benny Ray Randolph."

"Benny Ray," Matt replied, proffering his hand.

The sniper shook it.  "Matt."

"Look, I'd like you to meet my wife," Shepherd continued smoothly.  He turned and gestured for Margo to join him.  She smiled and crossed the room in a sensual glide that had most of the men nearby watching.  She had changed into a black sheath dress with spaghetti straps that showed off her shapely figure.

"Hello," she said as she reached the men.

          "Sweetheart," Matt said, "this is Jason Chance, the man I told you about.  And this is his business partner, Benny Ray Randolph."

          "Mr. Randolph," Margo said, shaking Benny Ray's hand.

"A pleasure, ma'am," Benny Ray replied, a smile twinkling in his blue eyes.

She turned to Chance.  "Mr. Chance."

          "Most definitely a pleasure," he said, taking her hand, then lifting it to place a kiss lightly on the back.

          "How nice," she replied with a slight purr.  "I could get used to this."

          "Have you two gotten a drink?" Matt asked.

          "Not yet," Benny Ray said.

          "Here, let me show you where the bar is, it's right over here," Matt offered, leading them over.

          As they neared the bar an older woman stepped up and ordered a glass of sangria.  The bartender poured her drink and handed it to her.  She turned just as the foursome reached her.

          "Dr. Blackmoon?" Margo asked, her eyes rounding in surprise.

          "Margo!" the older woman replied.  She set her drink back on the bar, then opened her arms.  Margo stepped up and the woman folded her into a warm hug.  "It's so nice to see you again!  You look wonderful!"

          Margo stepped back, smiling.  "Thank you.  Oh, Doctor, this is my husband, Matt Anderson."

          Dr. Blackmoon looked at Matt, her gaze appraising.  "Well, he's certainly handsome," she concluded.

          Margo giggled.  "Matt, Dr. Blackmoon is the—"

          "Anthropology professor you told me about.  I remember," he finished for her.

          "Are you here doing research?" Margo asked while Benny Ray and Chance ordered their drinks.

          "Actually, I'm semi-retired, but I can't give it up completely, so yes, I'm still doing some research here on Cat Island."

          "Excuse me," interrupted a British accent.

          The group turned.  C.J. stood there, wearing a pair of white pants and another Hawaiian shirt, this one black with bright pink flamingos.  "I just overheard, you wouldn't happen to be _the_ Dr. Blackmoon, would you?"

          "Yes, that's me," the older woman said.

          "Christopher James Safford, with World Beat Records," he said, extending his hand.  "I was hoping to talk to you about the local music scene."

          Dr. Blackmoon smiled.  "Well, I'd be happy to talk to you, but I just ran into one of my old students—"

          "Oh, that's okay," Margo said.  "I'm sure we can get together later.  Matt and I will be here for almost two weeks.  And he just met an old business partner—"

          "Well, since this is my party, in a manner of speaking—" C.J. began.

          "You opened the bar?" Matt asked, interrupting.

          C.J. shrugged.  "It was the least I could do, considering I'm hoping to make a great deal of money by bringing the local music to the peoples of the world.  Look, why don't you all come up to my suite for supper?  You can catch up and I can ask the good professor about what I hear is a most unique musical movement going on here."

          "Matt?" Margo asked, gazing up hopefully.

          Matt glanced over at Chance and Benny Ray, "What do you say?" he asked.  "I'd love to hear what the old man's got you doing these days."

          Benny Ray and Chance exchanged looks, then the black man nodded.  "Sure, why not."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Grand Suite**

**1840 hours**

 

          In C.J.'s suite the team and Dr. Blackmoon settled on the chairs and couches arranged at the center of the living room.

          "Doctor, I'm guessing that Trout's already talked to you?" Matt asked.

          She nodded.  "Xavier explained the situation, yes."  Dr. Blackmoon was a handsome woman despite her sixty-plus years.  Her skin was dark brown and still smooth except for the laugh lines carved deeply into the corners of her black eyes.  Her thick hair was black, but streaked liberally with silver.

          "Can you tell us a little about the Island?" Margo asked.

          Dr. Blackmoon nodded.  "The Islanders maintain that Columbus Point, which is actually an old Indian cave, is where Christopher Columbus first made landfall in the New World.  That's a point debated among historians, but what we do know for certain is that the Spanish were the first to colonize this Island."

"Why Cat Island?" C.J. asked.

"The Spanish landed here first," the anthropologist explained, "but it was named for Arthur Catt—"

"Ah, a British sea captain," C.J. interrupted, smiling proudly.

"Or pirate, depending on your point of view," Blackmoon countered with a warm smile.  "Some say the Island was named for Catt himself, others say it was called Cat Island because of all the wild cats the English found here in the 1600s – descendants of domestic cats the Spanish had left behind."

"Do you know where Señora Alvorado is hiding?" Chance asked.

          "Oh, the Señora isn't in hiding," Dr. Blackmoon replied.  "She and her followers have been seen all over the Island the last two days."  The anthropologist reached into her large, colorful tote bag and pulled out a map of the Island, which she unfolded on the coffee table so the others could see.  "As you can see, Cat is a boot-shaped island, one of the most beautiful in the Bahamas chain."

          "It's a lot of territory to cover," Benny Ray added.

          "Sixty miles of beaches," Dr. Blackmoon offered.  "But some of the island is densely forested foothills.  No one lives there.  And I doubt the Señora will flee into the wilds."

          "Where would you suggest we look?" Margo asked.  "The satellite intel Trout gave us showed the woman at three separate locations."

          "Yes, I've seen the same data.  But I'm sure we can rule out one of the three.  It's a house that belongs to a local official.  She visited to pay him off so he would leave her alone to perform her rituals."

"That still leaves two locations to check out," Matt said, his expression growing troubled.  They needed to have the Senator and his daughter by no later than 1500 the day after tomorrow.

"I'm afraid so.  But if it's any help, the island is dotted with old cotton plantations that were established in the 1700s.  My guess would be that she's holed up on one of those.  But there are also old slave villages and caves that the Arawak Indians used to use that honeycomb the island.  The Arawak are the indigenous people of these islands.  She could be staying at any of the ruins, but I would think that the old plantations would be your best bet.  Dominga has always appreciated the comforts of life."

Margo nodded.  "The satellite photos showed her near two of the old plantation sites.  The third at a house on the outskirts of one of the villages; I take it that was the official's home?"

The anthropologist nodded.

          Matt considered.  "Are there any maps of these plantation sites?"

          Dr. Blackmoon shook her head.  "No, I'm afraid not, but I'd check the site closest to Old Bight first.  That's the largest town on the island, so it would put her closer to anything she might need from town."

          "Okay, tomorrow morning we'll split up and start looking," Matt decided and the others nodded their agreement.  He turned back to Dr. Blackmoon.  "What can you tell us about Señora Alvorado?  What are we going to be up against?"

          The anthropologist leaned back and sighed softly.  "Dominga Alvorado is a high priestess of a voodoo cult that includes members in Florida, Haiti, as well as here in the Bahamas."

          "What's her specific connection to Cat Island?" Chance asked.  "Why is she here?"

          "Her grandfather was an islander," Blackmoon explained.  "She regularly travels from the U.S. to the island.  Authorities have believed for many years that she's part of a narcotics cartel, but they've never really tried to prove it – they're afraid of her powers, and with good reason.  Those who get in her way have a tendency to die.  As far as I know, Señora Alvorado has never been questioned by police in any of the countries she regularly travels to, except the U.S.  As for why she's here now, if what Xavier told me is true, she might be here because she feels safest here."

          "The folks here think her mojo's strong?" Benny Ray asked.

          Blackmoon studied the young man for a moment, then nodded.  "Yes.  She's seen as a most powerful woman.  No one will willingly betray her by helping you.  They're too afraid of her power to do that."

          Matt shot his sniper a glance.  "You don't believe this stuff, right?"

          Benny Ray shrugged.  "I've seen some pretty strange things, Major.  Smart thing is to keep an open mind sometimes."

          Margo's eyes widened slightly and she cocked her head to one side, surprised.  Chance and C.J. just stared at the man, not sure how to take Benny Ray's comment.

          "A healthy attitude in the islands," Blackmoon commented sagely.

          They spent the next two hours discussing the island and Señora Alvorado.  By the time they headed back to their individual rooms – Chance heading off to see if the young woman was finally off duty – they had their assignments for the following day worked out.  Matt and Margo would visit the usual tourist spots, including the area around the plantation houses near Old Bight.  Chance and Benny Ray would take the boat and explore along the coastline, checking the second plantation area.  And C.J. and Dr. Blackmoon would head out to some of the smaller villages to listen to the islanders play their unique brand of music and to ask about the Señora and any possible rituals she might be planning.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

 

**Reynolds-Smyth Plantation**

**Cat Island**

**2300 Hours**

 

          The middle-aged man stepped into the small room, his fingers crushing the floppy felt hat in his hands over and over as he waited to be acknowledged.  His gaze darted over the whitewashed room, noting each of the symbols painted on the walls.  The room hummed of power and darkness, and he broke out into a cold sweat.  He didn't want to be there, but she had called for him, so he had come.

Now and again he found himself staring at the woman who had summoned him, and each time he forced his gaze away, afraid she might notice and take offense.

          She was still beautiful, even though he knew she must be close to sixty years old.  She looked no more than forty, her long, black hair untouched by gray and her brown skin completely smooth and unblemished.  Dressed as she was now, in a loose white cotton dress that revealed her shoulders and the first blush of her ample breasts, she was enchanting and seductive.  A bright, blood red sash cinched the dress in at her narrow waist and the full skirt of the outfit flared out in a circle where she sat, like petals from some island flower.  And, she was as lovely as an exotic flower, with her high cheekbones, large, almond-shaped eyes and delicate nose.

Her eyes were closed, but the man knew they were a strange amber-gray color that seemed to penetrate into a man's soul.  Her lips were full and red.  She looked harmless, until you met those eyes.  In their depths lay something dangerous, and he was afraid.

          Gold earrings and bracelets tinkled as she stirred at last.  "Manelo," she said, her voice a rich contralto with the soft velvet brush of an island accent.

He dipped his head and shuffled forward, squeezing his felt hat even tighter.

She stroked her own cheek with long, red-painted fingernails.  Her hands were thin-boned, her fingers reminding the man of a spider's legs.  And she had ensnared him.  His will was hers to command.

She held out her hand then and he stepped forward to accept the offering, brushing his lips against her knuckles.  He did not like to touch her, even though her skin was warm and dry.  He could feel her, draining his life away when he touched her.

"I have seen them," she said in her soft, deep voice.  "They come for Castillo and his daughter."

"Yes," he said, dipping his head.  "It was just as you said, Señora, five of them, four men and a woman.  They are staying at the Pink Sands Resort."  He risked a glance up, adding, "But, Señora, they do not seem to know one another."

"Oh, they know each other," Dominga replied, her voice hardening.  "They are a dangerous force.  And Blackmoon?"

"Yes, she met with them, just as you said she would."

"Were they exactly as I described?"

"Yes, Señora."

She tossed back her head and laughed, the sound sending a chill down the man's back.  Her dreams were just as powerful as they always had been.

"Perhaps you should let the man and his child go," Manelo suggested, but he dared not look at her as he did.

"No."  She stood, the white skirt of her dress swirling around her long brown legs.  "Castillo took my help, he used my power and then refused to pay me what I was due.  I will exact my price from him."

"But, Señora, he is a powerful man, with powerful friends.  What—?"

"They are not as powerful as I," Alvorado proclaimed arrogantly.  She walked around the room, looking at the many drawings on the walls and floor.  She finally stopped in front of an altar decorated with a crucifix, candles, flowers, a wooden statue of an old African god, and several fetishes made from decorated animal and human bones.  Reaching out, she caressed one made up of a child's finger bones.  "I will make one of them my goat.  These strangers will not stop me.  Castillo and his daughter will be mine.  I will have my eyes and ears in the American government.  And I will have my protégé."

Manelo swallowed convulsively as her power slowly wrapped around his neck, making it almost impossible to breathe.  He dropped his hat, his fingers clawing at the unseen fingers that were strangling the very life from him.

Fetish in hand, Dominga turned when Manelo finally dropped to his knees, his lips having turned blue from the lack of oxygen.  She chanted softly, her eyes bright with excitement.  A moment later he fell onto his side, his tongue bulging out over his lips as he slowly strangled to death.  When she finally saw his life escape through his eyes, her fingers closed tightly around the fetish.

Taking a small knife from the altar, she used it to open his throat.  Blood poured onto her hand and the fetish she still held there.  When the bones were red she stood.

Turning back to the altar, she stripped the fetish of its sodden feathers and beads, then dribbled the bones and blood into a small bowl.  Working slowly and calmly as she chanted under her breath, she ground the bones into a paste, then added a series of other powders to the mortar bowl, grinding them together.  When she was done she poured half of the contents into a small red-leather bag.  Next she carried the bowl over to Manelo's body.  Whispering a spell, she waited a moment, then knelt next to the dead man.  A moment later his unseeing eyes began to cry dried blood.  She collected some of the almost black dust, adding it to the remainder of her potion, then grinding it in as well.

When she was done she poured the rest of the dust into a black-leather bag, then walked out of the room without a backward glance for her victim.

A tall, athletic-looking black man waited for her in the hall.  He was young, in his late twenties, and she paused long enough to stroke her fingernails over his bare chest.  He trembled under her touch.  She handed him the two bags of powder.

"Tomorrow, find the strangers," she commanded.  "Use the powder in the red bag on the black man.  And use the powder in the black bag on his white companion.  They will come here together.  But take care, they are powerful in their own ways.  If you fail me I will be sure to punish you."

The man accepted the bags with a slight nod, but there was nervous sweat already beading across his upper lip.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**The following day**

**Cat Island**

**0900 hours**

 

          Chance watched the water for any possible obstacles while Benny Ray maneuvered the cabin cruiser into a small natural cove along the Cat Island coastline.  As soon as the sniper dropped the anchor, Chance turned to their gear and began pulling on his fins, mask and snorkel.  Benny Ray quickly joined him and did the same.

They both sat on the edge of the boat, then fell back into the warm water.  They swam around the cove for close to twenty minutes, making sure that they would appear to be tourists out of a morning snorkel to anyone who might be watching.  Under the clear water, Benny Ray tapped his watch and signaled toward the beach.

Chance nodded.

The pair swam into the low surf, then stood and walked up to the beach.  They both flopped down on the pink-tinted sand, the water on their bodies already beginning to dry in the warm morning sun.  They talked softly about the weather, the Island, and where they wanted to go next.

About fifteen minutes later, Chance stood, smiling down at his companion.  "I'll go take a look around, see if there's anything worth exploring," he said.  "You work on your tan."

          "Think I can handle that," Benny Ray replied with a grin.  He lay back on the sand, enjoying the feel of the sun on his chest and legs.  When he started to get hot, he rolled over, letting the warmth form the morning sun relax his back and shoulders.

          He listened to the sound of the wind in the foliage, the water lapping at the pink sand, and the constant cries of various birds in the trees.  But there was nothing that might tell him that Chance was on his way back.  Lifting his head, he checked his watch – twenty-three minutes.  He frowned.  The black man was three minutes overdue.  Benny Ray pushed himself off the beach and stood.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Chance found the large, square plantation home in six minutes.  He waited for six more minutes to confirm his initial suspicion that several well-armed men were guarding the building.  He counted seven in all; four of them walking a specific path, watching for any trouble, the others positioned at each of the three patios.  Then a little girl stepped out into one patio, a doll clutched in her arms.  A man stepped out after her and quickly escorted her back inside.

The operator recognized the man – Richard Castillo.  The girl must be his daughter.  Chance was just starting to turn back to join Benny Ray when another motion at the side patio stopped him.  A black man stepped out and glanced around.  He looked nervous, or anxious.

Chance watched the man take a deep breath, then force himself off the patio, disappearing into the trees.

The operator followed him.

          After another five minutes Chance knew that the man was headed for the same beach where Benny Ray was waiting.  He checked his watch – eighteen minutes.  He was due back in two, but there was no way to circle around the stranger now; they were too close to the beach.  Besides, he had no idea what the man's intentions were.  Better to continue to tail him, just in case.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Benny Ray had just stood when the black man emerged from the thick foliage.  The sniper's trained gaze swept over the stranger.  He didn't appear to be armed.

          "Hello," the stranger called with an unconvincing smile.

          "Hi," Benny Ray replied.

          "Beautiful mornin'," the man added, his accent the lilting singsong of a native islander.  "Would you like to see some of the local sites, maybe?"

          Benny Ray smiled, but his nerves hummed in anticipation.  Where was Chance?  Was this man responsible for his friend being overdue?  "Naw," he replied.  "Just waitin' for a friend.  We're gonna do some scuba divin' later."

          "There are some interesting places around here," the man pressed, walking closer.  "Plantations, old slave quarters, even Indian caves.  I'd be happy to show you – cheaper than the official guides.  I know the best spots; can tell you many stories."

          Benny Ray automatically dropped into a ready position as soon as the man was within striking distance.  The stranger didn't seem to notice, and the sniper hadn't expected him to.  Movement in the trees caught his attention and Benny Ray turned his head just far enough to check it in his peripheral vision.

Chance.

          A wave of relief swept over the sniper at the same moment as the stranger lifted his hand as if to shake Benny Ray's.  "What do you say?" the man asked.  "I even know where you can find willing women, drugs, if you like."

          Before Benny Ray could reply, the man raised his hands and flipped it over.  In his palm was a small mound of red powder.  The man blew the dust into the sniper's face.

          Benny Ray sucked in a breath before he could stop himself.  He choked and staggered back a step as the powder seared into his lungs.  He blinked rapidly as the man, then the foliage, began to undulate like he was looking at them in a bad fun house mirror.  The roar of the tide filled his ears, pounding his consciousness painfully before everything went black.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Chance reached the edge of the trees just as the man walked up to Benny Ray.  He could see that the sniper was ready for an attack, but the man didn't appear to be threatening, just annoying, trying to secure a job as tour guide.  The operator moved though the shadows, catching his partner's attention.

          He watched as the man extended his hand as if to shake hands with Benny Ray, but before the sniper could do so, the man blew something into his face.

          "Damn it," Chance hissed, already bolting from cover.

The sniper's eyes went wide and his breath caught in his throat with an audible choking gasp.

Chance reached the sand just as Benny Ray stumbled back and fell to his knees. Afraid the man might attack the sniper, Chance caught him with a stunning blow to the back of his neck.  The stranger went down onto his knees, but he immediately came back up, fighting.  The ferocity of the man's attack took the operator by surprise.  It was like he was possessed, or high on something, and Chance quickly found himself in a defensive position, just trying to keep the man from overpowering him.

Then the stranger suddenly broke off the attack and bolted into the cover of the trees.  Chance took three running steps after him, then swung back to check on Benny Ray, who was slowly climbing back onto his feet.  He sprinted back to join him, helping the wobbly man to stand.  "You okay?" he asked, grabbing the sniper's arm.

          The sniper nodded, letting the black man support most of his weight until the world stopped spinning.  "What the hell just happened?"

          "That guy blew something in your face," Chance explained, quickly checking his teammate over as best he could while he literally held him on his feet.  He found a pale red powder clinging to the man's skin and rubbed some off with his fingertips.  He smelled it, but could detect no odor.  "You went down like he'd cold-cocked you," he said.  "You still have some of the stuff on your face.  You better wash this stuff off, it might be cocaine or something."

          Benny Ray shook his head and blinked rapidly.  "It feels like he popped me one," he admitted.  "Everything's spinnin' 'round."

          "Head hurt?"

          "Yeah," he admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck as he stood up straighter.

          Chance frowned, still keeping a hand on the sniper's arm until he was sure the man was steady on his feet.  "I think we better get you back to the resort.  They've got a physician on staff.  He can look you over."

          "I'll be all right," Benny Ray argued as he walked to the surf and used the seawater to wash the powder off his face.  "I'm feelin' better already."

          "All right, but if your head still hurts when we get back, I want you to get checked out, okay?  Who knows what that stuff was."

          Benny Ray flashed the man a smile.  "Aye-aye, Lieutenant," he teased.  "Whatever you say, sir."

          "Come on," Chance growled, but he was grinning.  "And I found Castillo."

          "Oh?  So we won the jackpot, huh?"

          "Yeah, saw him and his daughter.  At least they're still alive.  But the Señora's got at least seven hired guards patrolling the grounds."

          "Seven?" Benny Ray repeated, his smile getting wider.  "Hell, that's a cake-walk."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          He stepped out to join her in her private garden.  His hands were shaking so badly that he forced them into his pockets so she couldn't see them.

          She was dressed all in white, as she always was, her back to him when she hissed, "You failed."

          "I'm sorry," he begged.  "I could only find the white man.  His black companion moved like a leopard, hiding in the shadows.  He attacked me."

          "I told you to use the powders on _both_ men, did I not?"

          "Yes, mistress, but—"

          "You have failed me," she repeated, then turned, her amber-gray eyes almost glowing with anger.  She held a large white flower in her hand.

The young man stared at the blossom, his gaze locked on the dew-damp pedals.  Still, he his managed one step away from the priestess before his muscles locked up and he was frozen in place.  Dominga circled around him like a cat toying with a wounded mouse.  She reached out, raking her long red nails down one of the man's cheeks.  His eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the ground.  She dropped the flower onto his chest, the pedals immediately curling up as if some invisible flame was burning them.  The young man writhed in soundless agony, then lay still.

          "José!" she called.

          An older black man hurried into the garden.  He stumbled to a stop, looking down at the body of his nephew.

          "Feed him to the pigs," she snapped.

          The old man nodded, tears pooling in his eyes.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Old Bight**

**Cat Island**

**1300 hours**

 

          "There they are," Chance said quietly, spotting Matt and Margo in the crowd at the Spanish Plaza.  When Benny Ray did not reply he glanced at the man, worried.  "Hey, you okay?" he asked.  The sniper's face had gone a sickly gray color and his eyes were glazed like he was running a high fever, but there was no sweat on his skin.

          Benny Ray shook his head, sucking in a shallow breath.

          "What?" the black man asked, then reached out and grabbed the man's arm when Benny Ray swayed dangerously.  Several people moving around them, giving the pair a wide berth.

          "My head feels like it's gonna explode," the sniper replied, his voice slurred as if his tongue was swollen or he was very, very drunk.

          "You want to sit down?" Chance asked, glancing around and looking for someplace in the shade.

          "Chest hurts," Benny Ray moaned.  "My bones, too."

          He saw Benny Ray's eyes roll up a moment before he pitched forward. Chance felt the man's knees buckle and grabbed for him.  "Benny Ray," he said, worry making his voice tight.  He held the man's entire weight for a moment, then lowered him to the ground.  Looking up at the people who were passing by, trying to ignore them, he called, "Hey, I need some help here!"

The tourists and islanders looked away, some of them making the sign of the cross as they hurried by.

Chance looked back at his friend.  Benny Ray's lips had turned an odd shade of blue and the black man reached out to check his friend's pulse with trembling fingers.  He didn't find one.  "Benny Ray?" he snapped, shaking the man's shoulder roughly.  "Come on, Brother Ray…  Benny Ray.  Damn you, don't you do this to me."

He checked for a pulse again and still found nothing.  He leaned over, pressing his ear to the man's chest.  "Come on, Benny Ray… please."

"Jason?"

Chance recognized the voice and looked up, meeting Shepherd's concerned gaze.  "He's dead," was all he could manage.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Matt watched the crowd while Margo bought a hand-woven shawl from an old woman selling her wares under a bright blue umbrella in the town's central plaza.  The Spanish marketplace was a tourist must-see, and they'd moved through it as quickly as they could.  Their earlier trip to the old plantation home had turned up nothing.

He and Margo had been making a point of stopping at each of the vendors who offered anything that even might be related to the practice of voodoo, but thus far none of them had mentioned Señora Alvorado, even when asked about Santeria.

          He grinned briefly when a breeze bent the brim of Margo's large straw hat down as she stepped up to join him, obscuring her vision.  She deftly popped it back up again and grinned back at him.

          "What do you think?" she asked, holding up the delicate lace shawl.

          "Pretty," he said, only glancing at the foam green garment for a moment before he continued to scan the crowd, looking for Chance and Benny Ray.  C.J. and Dr. Blackmoon had arrived at the plaza about a half-hour earlier, the Brit wearing yet another Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses and a fedora-style straw hat.  They hadn't found anything either.  He glanced down at his watch.  Where the hell were they?  He was about to suggest that they return to the resort when he finally spotted the two men nearing the edge of the plaza.  No hats.  They had found Castillo.

He reached out and tapped Margo on the shoulder.  "Honey, I'm getting hungry, why don't we go grab a bite to eat?"

          She looked up, her gaze sweeping over the plaza.  She smiled when she spotted the pair.  "Sounds good, I'm hungry, too."

          They started through the crowd toward the two men.  Then Benny Ray went down like someone had clubbed him.

          "What the hell?" Matt said, starting to bolt forward.  A strong grip on his arm stopped him.

          "Easy," Margo cautioned, "not too obvious."

          Matt looked down at her, a hot retort on his tongue, but he swallowed it.  She was worried, too, chewing her lower lip.  And she was right.  Together they casually made their way to the far side of the plaza.  He fought the desire to walk on tiptoe so he could see what was happening over the heads of the crowd.

          A few moments later they stepped out of the throng.  Chance was kneeling on the ground, leaning forward, his ear pressed against Benny Ray's chest.

          "Jason?" Matt called as soon as he felt like he could.

          Chance looked up, his expression a mixture of shock and anguish.  "He's dead," was all he said.

          "What?" Matt said.

          He and Margo rushed forward to join the black man.  They knelt on the stone street, both checking for a pulse and failing to find one.  Matt moved to start CPR, Chance joining him.

          "I'll call for help," Margo said, her voice breaking as she stood and bolted off.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**The Pink Sands Resort**

**1647 hours**

 

          Chance sat hunched over at the resort's poolside bar, nursing a beer, his gaze locked on the surf as rolled in along the beach.  Matt and Margo sat with him, their expressions carefully neutral.  The local police had arrived at the plaza and, after declaring Benny Ray dead, had immediately set about determining whether or not the sniper was a victim of foul play.  About an hour later they finally sent his body to the morgue.

The three Americans were then taken to the police station and questioned individually for another hour.  After the interrogations, they were asked to provide a statement, then allowed to return to the resort.

          "What happened?" Shepherd finally asked, his voice rough.

          Chance shook his head and shrugged weakly.  "I— I don't know."  He glanced around, making sure no one could overhear him.  "We got to the plantation.  We swam around, then headed for the beach.  Benny Ray stayed there and I did the recon on the plantation house.  I saw Castillo and his daughter.  The house is guarded.  I counted seven.  Then I saw a guy come out and head into the jungle.  I followed him.  He and Benny Ray had a run-in.  The guy tossed something in Benny Ray's face."

          "What was it?" Margo asked, her own voice tight and her eyes puffy and bright.

          Chance shrugged again.  "I couldn't really see it.  He had his back to me.  But there was a fine red powder on his face.  He washed it off, but it gave him a headache and made him a little wobbly on his feet."

          "Damn," Matt sighed, shaking his head.  "Maybe it was some kind of a poison.  We have to get Castillo and his daughter out tonight."

          "Margo?" a voice interrupted.

The three turned to find Dr. Blackmoon walking up to join them.  "Dr. Blackmoon," she greeted.

The anthropologist opened her arms, inviting Margo into a hug, and she took the older woman up on the invitation.  "Can we go up to your room?" Blackmoon asked softly.

Margo pulled back and wiped a tear off her cheek.  "I guess you heard what happened?"

"Yes.  I'm very sorry."

"Would you like to come up to the room?" she asked.  "I could really use a woman-friend right now."

"Of course, my dear."

          Shepherd nodded and stood.  "Jason, come on, we'll go up, too.  I'll order a bottle and we'll have a drink."

Chance nodded.

They entered the resort together, almost running into C.J., who had rushed into the lobby like a small whirlwind.  He met Shepherd's gaze and the ex-major immediately knew something was very, very wrong.

"Dr. Blackmoon," the Brit greeted as he walked up to join them.  "I have a few more questions for you."

"Now isn't a good time," the anthropologist said.

"But—"

          "Join us," Matt offered.  "I'll explain."

          C.J. nodded and fell in behind them.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Is it true?" C.J. asked when they were inside the large suite Matt and Margo were sharing.

          Margo nodded, not trusting her voice.

          "Bloody hell," the Brit sighed.  "I heard what happened.  I went to the morgue to—"  He shook his head, took a deep breath and continued.  "He's not there, Major."

          "What?" Chance demanded, stepping up to the shorter man.

          C.J. looked up at the black man, meeting the demanding gaze.  "He's gone," he said softly.  He reached out and rested a comforting hand on the man's shoulder.  "Someone took the body.  That's why I was looking for you," he explained.

          "Señora Alvorado," Dr. Blackmoon said softly.

The operators turned to look at the woman, waiting for her to explain.

"That's why I came.  I heard from an informant that Dominga is planning a white goat ceremony tonight."

          "White goat?" Matt asked, his forehead creased in confusion.

          "A ritual that includes a human sacrifice," the anthropologist explained.

          "Benny Ray's body?" Chance asked, his expression one of clear disgust.

          "Or it could be the Senator, or his daughter," Margo offered.

          "But one of your people is missing?" Dr. Blackmoon asked.

          "Benny Ray," Chance said.  "He just fell over – dead."

          "Was he exposed to any kind of a dust?" the older woman asked.  "Or a strange drink?"

          Chance nodded, willing to grasp at straws, "A red dust.  At least I think it was dust, something that can be blown off of your hand.  A man blew in his face."

          "He's not dead," Blackmoon assured them.  "That dust is used to simulate death."

          "He was dead," Matt argued.  "No pulse.  No breathing.  We tried CPR—"

          "Believe me, I know it looks real, but—"

          "Look, damn it, one of my people is _dead_ ," Shepherd snapped.

          Margo stepped up, resting a hand comforting on the man's arm.  "Listen to her, Matt," she said.  "If there's any chance he's alive…"

          Shepherd sucked in a deep breath, puffed it out, and then nodded.  "All right, let's say he is alive, then he might be this white goat you're talking about?"

The anthropologist gave Margo a grateful look, then explained, "If Dominga wanted to cement Senator Castillo's cooperation, she might bind him to her, or bind his daughter to her.  In order to do that she'd have to have a human sacrifice.  Your man would give her a considerable amount of power."

          "But that's just superstition," Matt argued.  "Killing Benny Ray isn't going to really _do_ anything."

          "Dominga believes," Blackmoon said flatly.  "And so do her followers, including Senator Castillo."

          "We have to get back to that house," Shepherd said.

          "That won't be a problem," the older woman said, reaching into her tote.  She pulled out a folded piece of white paper and handed it to Shepherd.

          He opened the paper and read aloud, "Alexandra, you and your new friends are welcome to attend my party this evening.  I think they will find it most interesting.  Arrive by six p.m.  The Renyolds-Smyth Plantation."

          "That bitch," Margo hissed, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

          Dr. Blackmoon nodded.  "It won't be easy.  Dominga is very powerful.  And no one there will do anything to help you.  They will die for her if she asks them too."

          "Matt, we can't kill innocent people," Margo stated.

          Shepherd's eyes flashed.  "I know that, but I'm not going to stand there and let her sacrifice Benny Ray either."

          "Maybe we won't have to," Chance said.  "Trout's people left us plenty of goodies on the boat."

          "You won't be able to get into Dominga's circle using guns," Dr. Blackmoon warned.

          "Doctor, with all due respect," Matt said, "we'll do whatever it takes to get our people out of there.  It would help if we could blend in somehow."

          The anthropologist shook his head.  "I'm afraid that only Mr. Chance could pull that off."

          "Do you know where she might be holding the Senator and his daughter?" Shepherd asked the older woman.  "If we can get them out, that will give us more options."

          Blackmoon thought a moment.  "She'll hold the ritual in the main house.  There will be about twenty to twenty-five locals who will attend.  I'd guess she'd hold Castillo and his daughter in the old slave quarters until the time was right.  She would appreciate the symbolism.  Your man will be in the ballroom, or nearby since they will have to prepare him before the ritual."

          "Then we'll start in the slave quarters.  Once we get Castillo and his daughter out, then we can look for Benny Ray's body."

          "Believe me, he's not dead," Blackmoon assured.  She reached into her tote again, this time pulling out a small white leather bag.  She handed it to Shepherd.  "You'll need to sprinkle the contents on his nose and mouth.  He should wake up in a few minutes, but it'll take about ten minutes before he's truly conscious.  And be careful, he'll be susceptible to Dominga's powers until he is fully awake."

          "And how long will that be?" Margo asked.

          "About an hour.  Until then she will try to use him against you."

"Not bloody likely," C.J. muttered.

          The anthropologist shrugged as she reached up and removed the small brown-leather medicine bag she wore around her neck, handing it to Matt.  "Believe whatever you like, but I've seen more rituals that I can even begin to count.  I've seen what Dominga can do.  Put this around his neck once you're sure he recognizes you; it should help protect him."

"What's this for?" Shepherd asked.

"Focus," was the less than forthcoming reply.  "Please, don't treat Dominga lightly or she will destroy you."

          "We won't treat her lightly," Matt promised.  "But we have a job to do, and no black magic is going to stand in our way."

"And if she did kill Benny Ray, she won't be leaving this island – ever," Chance said softly, his voice full of deadly threat and promise.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**The Reynolds-Smyth Plantation**

**1740 hours**

 

          Dominga glanced up when Alexandra Blackmoon entered the ballroom, which was elaborately decorated for the ritual to come.  Several people stood along the symbol-inscribed walls, their bodies swaying as they listened to the three men who beat out a soft, steady cadence on their drums.  She smiled and swept over, the full white skirt she wore swirling around her legs like clouds.

"Ah, I see you arrived on time," she said as she reached the anthropologist.  "And where are your new friends?"

          Dr. Blackmoon did not return the woman's smile, nor did she accept Dominga's proffered hand.  "I gave them directions.  I'm sure they'll be along shortly."

          The priestess laughed.  "Oh, I am very sure they will."  She reached out and fingered the new medicine bag the anthropologist wore around her neck.  "Do you really believe that this can protect you from me?" she asked, amused.

          Blackmoon stood her ground, her expression unruffled.  "Yes, Dominga, I do.  And so do you."

          The priestess laughed again, but she released the medicine bag and took a step back.  "Tonight I will show you just how powerful I have become, Alexandra."

          Dr. Blackmoon smiled then.  "You've picked the wrong victim this time, Dominga.  They will destroy you."

          Alvorado's eyes narrowed and her upper lip curled off her teeth.  "They cannot stop me," she snarled.  "I will not allow it.  I will have my sacrifice, my American Senator, and my apprentice."

          Blackmoon took a step closer to the priestess, anger flaring.  "You will _not_ have that child," she said softly.

          "She is already mine," Dominga purred.

          "If that were true, you wouldn't need the white goat," the anthropologist countered.

          Dominga turned away.  "We shall see."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Shepherd and Margo crouched in the thick shadows of the trees and studied the old, vine-covered plantation home.  Their trip to the house had taken all of seven minutes – once the three guards waiting for them on the beach had been dealt with.  The mansion had been built around a central open quad that had once served as an inner courtyard.  There were two breaks in the otherwise square structure, a stately archway at the front of the house that would have once admitted carriages, and, at the rear, one wing that was shorter than the others, leaving an opening for people and carriages to exit to the stables, which were behind the house.  Dr. Blackmoon had explained that the shorter wing would be the quarters for those black slaves who worked in the house and the kitchen.

          A moment later C.J. and Chance joined them.  "Still seven, so maybe the three on the beach were new hires," the black man said.  "But there are a bunch of locals going into the house."

          "At least twenty," C.J. confirmed.  "But all the noise is coming from the west wing."

          "Probably where the ballroom is," Margo said.

"Ballroom?" Matt asked.

"Our voodoo queen is going to need a large space for all those people, and most of these old plantation homes had a ballroom.  If everyone's in the west wing, that's probably where it is."

          "How'd you know that?" C.J. asked.

          "I read the tourist information," was the business-like reply.

          Matt's gaze lingered on the armed guards, his thoughts focused on how they were safely going to enter the slave quarters.  When he had made up his mind, he turned to the others and explained his plan.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It was getting dark as they approached the building.  They pressed up against the wall, waiting for the guard who would eventually round the corner on his usual rounds.  He did and Matt quickly grabbed him.

Chance punched the man in the face three times so quick the guard had no chance to duck or fight.  He slumped back against Shepherd.

"Where is the American and his daughter?" Margo asked softly in Spanish.

          The man shook his head.

          Chance kicked the man in the crotch and he gurgled in pain and terror.  This time when Margo asked him again, he replied in a low fear-filled voice.

          "The Senator and Rosella are here," Margo translated.  "Second floor, the third room from this end.  There's another guard in the room with them."

          C.J. raised the dart gun he was holding and shot the guard in the neck.  A moment later the man was unconscious and Matt dragged him into the trees that had begun to reclaim the stable area behind the house.

          Margo checked around the edge of the building, getting a good look at the large grassy courtyard, in the center of which sat a large gurgling fountain.  Another guard stood at the edge, staring down into the water while he smoked a cigarette.  She raised her gun and fired.  The man took a step back, then fell onto the grass.  C.J. hurried out and grabbed the man's legs, pulling him over into the tangle of white flowers that grew in beds along the inside walls.

          Matt led the way up the outside stairs to the second floor of the slave quarters.  They had to move quickly.  They were in the open. 

          They reached the third room.  Matt and Chance kicked the door in at the same time.  C.J. and Margo moved in, both firing at the single guard, who went down with a double dose of the tranquilizer.  Rosella squealed, but her father hugged her close, muffling most of the child's cry.

          Shepherd silently thanked Trout for including the non-lethal dart guns among the "goodies" stowed on the cabin cruiser.  Three of the seven guards were already dispatched, leaving only four between them and Benny Ray.  "Sir, are you all right?" he asked.

Castillo nodded.  "American?"

"Yep.  Okay," Matt said to the others, "let's move back to the south corner."

          Less than two minutes later the operators and Castillo, who was carrying his daughter, reached the corner of the building and slipped around to the stable side.

"I don't know who you are, but thank you," the Senator said.

          "Save that for when we get you and your daughter safely out of here, Senator," Shepherd said, his gaze sweeping the grounds for any signs of trouble.

          Surrounding the man and his child, they quickly moved back into the trees.  There they waited several minutes to see if any alarm would be raised.  There was nothing.

          Matt turned to Chance.  "I want you to get the Senator and his daughter back to the boat and stand by."

          "Major—" the black man began to argue.

Shepherd cut him off.  "I know what you're going to say and the answer's no.  You have your orders."

          Chance was unhappy, but he knew Shepherd's reasons – he was mad, Alvorado had made it personal, and not just for him, but he'd been the one with Benny Ray when he'd gone down.  He nodded.

Matt waited until he was sure that Chance and the two hostages had a large enough head start to reach the boat ahead of any guards, then signaled for Margo and C.J. to follow him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Dr. Blackmoon watched as the ritual began.  Dominga was in her element, moving through the gathered men and women like some supernatural specter, dancing and chanting, calling the spirits she desired to help her.  The drummers maintained a steady, pounding rhythm that heightened the frenetic energy building in the old ballroom.  The priestess was slowly making her way toward a set of large doors that closed the ballroom off from what lay beyond, and the anthropologist had a pretty good idea about what was waiting in what was probably an old dining room – the American.

          She guessed that Dominga had set up her second altar in the dining room, and the man was already there, unconscious and decorated for the sacrifice.  But Castillo and his daughter would have to be present before she could make her sacrifice and, with luck, the other operators had already freed the Senator and moved him and his child to a safe location where they could be picked up and returned to the U.S.  The priestess wasn't going to be happy about that, but her arrogance had grown to such proportions that she had become blind to the truth.  Her own sense of superiority was finally going to be her undoing, and Blackmoon found that she couldn't even work up a tiny bit of remorse.  Dominga Alvorado had terrorized the people of this island long enough.

          Taking a deep breath, Dr. Blackmoon moved slowly toward the closed doors, hoping to be close by when the Americans rescued their friend.  Dominga might be destined to fail this night, but she was still a dangerous force to be reckoned with.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Shepherd and the others returned to the slave quarters, moving quickly along the outside of the building toward the west wing.  They went up an external stairway to the second floor, entering the building.  They proceeded down the hallway, checking the rooms they found one by one and finding no one.  Loud drumming came from the far end of the hall.

          At an intersecting hallway they stopped.  Matt leaned forward, getting a quick look down the second hall.  There were two more guards headed their direction.  Both had rifles, which they had slung over their shoulders with the muzzles down.  He signaled the others.

          When the men rounded the corner they were immediately hit by darts.  One of the men was struck in the neck and went down without a murmur.  The second was caught in the shoulder.  He staggered back and tried to lift his rifle.  Both Matt and C.J got off a second dart and the man went down.

          Margo checked the hallway again.  She saw no more guards and nodded.

          Shepherd covered them as Margo and C.J. slipped into the next room.  He could hear the soft chants of the islanders escalate in a nearby room.  They had to be getting close.  He heard Margo announce "clear" then, "Matt, get in here", in his ear mike and he stepped into the room and closed the door.  He turned, his eyes going wide.  Lying on a makeshift altar was Benny Ray.  He was bound at the wrists and ankles, and naked except for a very long, strategically draped white cloth.  His skin had been painted with strange twisting symbols in black, red and yellow that spread out from his chest and twined down his arms and legs.  Similar but smaller designs were painted on his neck, curling up over his jaw to splay out across his cheeks.  His closed eyes had been painted with black circles that were ringed with white, giving his face a macabre skull-like look.

          "I hate to say it, but there's something pleasingly aesthetic about this," Margo said, staring down at the man's naked but draped body.

          C.J. shot her a questioning gaze, but wisely didn't comment.  He checked the sniper, saying softly, "He's not breathing, Major.  And I can't find a pulse."

          Matt moved over to the altar and pulled the small leather bag Dr. Blackmoon had given him out of his pocket.  He handed it to Margo.  "Here, pour this over his mouth and nose."

          She accepted the bag.  "You really think this is going to work?" she asked.

          Shepherd shrugged.  "I hope it does."

          "Me, too," she replied, then pulled open the bag and sprinkled the fine white powder over Benny Ray's nose and mouth.

          The pounding drums grew louder as they waited for one, then two, and then three minutes to pass.  The apparent corpse sucked in a sharp breath and moaned.

All three operators took an involuntary step backwards.

          It was Matt who moved first to the sniper's side when the man's eyes fluttered sluggishly open.  "Benny Ray," he said softly.

          Blue eyes blinked owlishly, but Benny Ray didn't speak or focus on Shepherd.

          Matt reached out and gripped the sniper's shoulder, giving the man a gentle shake.  "Benny Ray," he repeated, "can you hear me?"

          The unseeing eyes continued to look past Shepherd, focusing instead on the far corner of the room.  Without thinking Matt glanced over his shoulder to see what the man was looking at.  There was nothing there.  He looked back at his friend and quickly found himself lost in the designs painted on the man's chest.  Then the patterns seemingly began to move in time to the drumbeats echoing through the walls.  He blinked several times and forced himself to look away.

"Benny Ray," he tried again, shaking the man a little harder this time.

"Boss?" was the barely audible reply.

          "Easy," Shepherd soothed.  "Do you know where you are?"

The sniper glanced around, then shook his head.

"Señora Alvorado's house," Shepherd explained.  "You know who we are."

"Hell, yes," the man replied, his voice sounding as dry as old leaves.  "Get me loose."

Matt grinned.  "Glad to hear it," he said as he started to work on the leather restraints that trapped the sniper's wrists.

Margo stepped up and began working on the restraints at the man's ankles while C.J. stood guard.  As soon as they had him free, the pair helped Benny Ray to sit up.

The sniper sat, his fingers curling tightly over the edge of the altar until the vertigo fell off to a tolerable level.  He swallowed, then forced himself to stand.  He grabbed for the white cloth as it started to slip away, holding it in place to cover himself, realizing for the first time that he was naked.  "What the hell happened to me?" he asked, staring down at his painted body.

"I'll explain later," Matt said, moving over to the large double doors where C.J. now stood.

"Sounds like she's getting ready to unveil her sacrifice," the Brit said.  "She got them worked up into a real fever."

"Sacrifice?" Benny Ray echoed, looking confused and unsteady on his feet.

"Here," Matt said, tossing Margo the second medicine bag Dr. Blackmoon had given him.

Margo caught the small leather bag in one hand.  "Yeah, you were voted white goat most likely to win her a U.S. Senator."  She quickly slipped the bag over Benny Ray's head.

"Thanks," he said, "but I'd rather have a pair of pants."

She grinned, reaching out to press her palm to his cheek, reassuring herself that he was indeed alive.  "Sorry.  Next time I'll remember."

The sniper muttered something to himself, then turned away so he could use the long piece of white cloth to fashion himself a breechclout.

"Not bad," Margo teased when he turned back around.

"We used to play cowboys and Indians when I was a kid," he replied softly, but his eyes twinkled playfully.  "Being the last of nine, I was always the Indian."

"You feeling okay?" Matt asked, handing the sniper a loaded dart gun.

Benny Ray nodded.  "Just don't ask me to run more 'n a few miles."

Shepherd grinned.  "Okay, let's get the hell out of here.  There should be two more guards somewhere and a shitload of civilians.  Let's see if we can't avoid—"

The doors flew open and they were looking into the angry amber-gray eyes of Dominga Alvorado.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Dominga knew her enemies were in the next room; she could feel their energy.  They had revived their fallen companion, but they would never leave the house.  She looked to one of the guards who waited by the double doors.  "Get Castillo," she said.

          He nodded and left.  Three minutes later he was back, his eyes wide, sweat beaded across his upper lip.  "The American and his child are gone," he said.

          "Fools!" Dominga hissed.  She stepped to the edge of the circle she had created and waved her hand, throwing open the double doors.

          Benny Ray stood closest to the priestess, Matt just behind him and to the left, Margo and C.J. just behind the sniper on the right.  The assembled guests gasped when they saw the Señora's sacrifice on his feet, his blue eyes like shining like angry gems inside the black circles.

          Dominga stepped forward, her arms rising above her head.  She had a machete in her right hand, its edge black with blood.  "Come, enter my circle, Benny Ray," she said, gray-amber eyes sparkling.

          The sniper took an involuntary step closer, then stopped.  He looked down.  There was a dead white goat lying at her feet, three headless white chickens next to it.  He knew if he stepped into the room he would die as well.

          "Come to me," Dominga commanded.

          Matt raised his weapon and fired at a guard who stepped into the dining room, his rifle beginning to come up.  The man went down in a heap on the floor.  Then his attention shifted back to Alvorado.  Even months later, Shepherd wasn't really sure he saw what happened next.

          In the ballroom a circle of dancing white flames sprang up.  Dominga Alvorado stood just inside the writhing spectacle, her dress made up of the same white flames.  Shepherd knew that the room had to be full of the same spectators who had just reacted when they saw Benny Ray, but now all he could see was the priestess and Benny Ray.

          "Come to me," the woman ordered a second time.

          Benny Ray took another step closer to the white flames, the dart gun slipping from his fingers.  "Major," he said, "get outta here."

          "Not without you," Shepherd replied.

          "I can't fight her long," the sniper said.  "Get out – now!"

          "The Senator thinks he is safe," Dominga hissed, "but I will show him.  I will show all of you.  Even here I can reach out and steal his child from him."  She bent and grabbed one of the goat's horns, jerking its head up.  The machete was still poised to strike.

          "No!" Benny Ray snapped, taking another step closer.

          Matt wanted to reach out and grab the sniper's arm, but he couldn't move.  He did manage to turn his head slightly, though, finding Margo and C.J. also rooted in place in the old dining room.

          Dominga looked up, meeting Benny Ray's eyes.  "I will spare the child if you come to me," she purred.  "You have children, mio, imagine how you would feel if your youngest child were stripped from you… come to me, and I will spare the child."

          "No!" thundered a new voice.

          Matt jerked, reeling like he'd been struck by the power behind that single word.  His heart pounded in his chest.  They were in trouble, and it wasn't the kind of trouble their weapons were going to get them out of.

          Alexandra Blackmoon stepped through the white flames and entered the dining room, pausing in front of Benny Ray.  "Listen to me," she said, and the sniper nodded.  "If you step into the circle, she will allow the child to live, but she will still be Dominga's to command.  You will sacrifice yourself for nothing."

          "Do not interfere, Alexandra," the priestess screeched.

          "How do I stop her?" Benny Ray asked the anthropologist.

          "You must simply decide to be stronger than she is.  She cannot control your will if you do not allow her to do so."

          Benny Ray looked from Blackmoon to Alvorado.  "Lady," he snapped, "me and my friends are leavin' now."

          "No," Dominga replied.  "You belong to me."

          "I don't belong to anyone," Benny Ray replied.

          "Many people fear me," Dominga hissed, "you should be one of them."  She let the goat fall back onto the floor and pointed the machete at the sniper.

          Matt heard Margo gasp as the designs on Benny Ray's body began to move, undulating and contorting across his skin.

The sniper threw his head back and cried out, a searing white-hot pain burning along every nerve.

          "Fight her!" Blackmoon barked.  "Refuse to accept the pain!  Do not let her steal your power.  Fight for your life!  Fight for the lives of your friends!"

          Benny Ray's body jerked like he was being beaten, but he managed to take two lumbering steps closer to the white flames.  "Stop!" he yelled.

          Dominga began to chant.  The scent of cloves rose, making the air thick and hard to breath.

Matt felt a rush of power wash over him.  It was like an electric current running over his body and his skin ached with it.

          "Use the power!" Blackmoon shouted at Benny Ray.  "Use it to protect yourself!"

          The sniper reached up, his fingers curling tightly around the medicine bag.  "Major!" he called.

          Shepherd stumbled forward.  It felt like he'd been frozen in a block of ice that had magically evaporated.  He reached Benny Ray a second before Margo and C.J. did.  He reached out and grabbed the sniper's shoulder.  The electric-like energy jolted through his arm, making the hairs on his arms stand on end, but now the power felt more welcoming.

          With his free hand, Benny Ray reached out and grabbed Margo's shoulder.  She, in turn, took C.J.'s hand in her own, creating a solid wall of resistance.

          For the operators time and movement both seemed to slow.  Matt felt the power swell around them, pushing out to meet that coming from the priestess.  The white flames shot higher, obscuring the woman until they fell back lower than they had been.  Dominga screamed, summoning her power again and pushing back at them.

          For a moment it as if like they'd stepped out into the full force of a raging hurricane.  Matt closed his eyes, then forced them open when Benny Ray's body jerked under his hand.  The painted designs were still moving, this time slipping off his body and curling around their necks.  Suddenly he was choking, and he could hear Margo and C.J. gasping as well.

          "No!" Benny Ray roared.  He convulsed forward, but he refused to let go of the medicine bag.  "Stop!  No more!"

          Matt felt the vice squeezing his throat closed loosen.  He sucked in a deep breath, Margo and C.J. doing the same.  He looked at Benny Ray and swore aloud.  The painted designs were swirling over his body again, then they seemed to lift free of his skin, floating in the air around him.  They drove back in, sliding along his skin, raising long red welts.

          "Concentrate on Dominga," Blackmoon's voice ordered.  "Send the energy to her."

          Benny Ray groaned low in his chest and Matt felt the sound vibrate through him like it was a note being played on some giant violin.  The designs, swirling now like tendrils of multi-colored fog, began to move closer to the priestess.

          Dominga's eyes rounded in surprise and fear.  "No!" she screamed.

          The twisting fog that circled Benny Ray suddenly shot forward, passing through the white flames and wrapping around Alvorado.  She jerked and convulsed like she was being electrocuted.  A moment later she was lying on the floor, her white dress stained red with blood.

          Matt sucked in a sharp breath as the white flames disappeared and the world returned to normal.  The guests stood in the ballroom, staring down at the body of their priestess.  Dominga was dead, her eyes still wide open, her lips curled back off her teeth in a silent scream.

          "Look," Margo said, breaking the silence.  She pointed to Benny Ray, who was on his hands and knees in the doorway, waiting again for the world to stop spinning.

          Matt looked.  The man's skin was completely clean.

          The three operators moved to Benny Ray's side, helping the man to stand.

"Are you all right?" Shepherd asked.

          The sniper nodded.

          Dr. Blackmoon quietly spoke to Dominga's guests and they quickly fled without a word or a sound.  When they were alone she turned back to the four operators and smiled.  "Congratulations."

          "For what?" Matt asked.  "What the hell just happened?"

          "It's complicated," the older woman explained, "but let's just say that it was a major victory for the good guys."

          Benny Ray slipped the medicine bag off his head and handed it back to her.  "I think this is yours," he said.

          She took the bag and carried it over to Dominga's body.  Opening it up, she poured the contents over the priestess's body.  "Do not linger, Dominga," she said softly.  "Move on now to the next world where you will face your judgment."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          When they reached the beach, Chance was there to greet them.  "I was just on my way back to find you," he said, staring at Benny Ray.  "Last time I saw you, you were doing a damned good imitation of dead, my friend," he said.

          The sniper grinned.  "So I hear."

          Chance stepped forward and folded Benny Ray in a brief, but heartfelt hug.  "Good to see you," he said softly, then stepped back.

          "The Senator?" Shepherd asked.

          "He and his daughter are fine.  They're on the boat," the black man explained.

          Matt turned to the sniper.  "You up for a short swim?"

          Benny Ray started to nod, but then his eyes rolled up and he collapsed onto the sand.

          "Is he dead again?" C.J. asked.

Margo and Chance both hit him.

"What?!  It's a reasonable question!"

          "He just passed out," Dr. Blackmoon said, kneeling beside Shepherd as he checked for a pulse, this time finding a strong, steady one.  "He'll slip in and out like that for about twelve hours.  It's best if you can just get him into bed and keep him there."

          "Not likely," Matt replied, "but we can try."  He looked up, meeting her gaze.  "Thank you."

          The older woman smiled.  "You're very welcome."

          Chance knelt next to Benny Ray as the sniper opened his eyes again.  "Hey, you okay?"

          "Never better," Benny Ray groaned.  "Feel like I've got the mother of all hangovers… and I didn't even have a drink."

          "You sure?" Chance asked.  "That's one hell of a costume you've got on."

          "Somebody forgot my pants."

          "He was doing a good imitation of a zombie," C.J. said.  "Reminds me of the time in Egypt when—"

          "Come on," Margo said, interrupting the Brit before he could get started, "let's get you back to the boat so you can get some rest."

          Benny Ray looked from Chance to Margo, his eyes sparkling with amusement.  "You volunteerin' to play nurse?"

          She grinned.  "Maybe.  But only if your prescription calls for a swift kick in the butt."

          "Pass," Benny Ray said, climbing to his feet with help from Chance and C.J., both of whom stayed close by.

          "Care to tell me what just happened back there, mate?" C.J. asked.

          Benny Ray snorted.  "Sure, just as soon as someone explains it to me."

          "Of course, considering that you were dead for most of it, I think I better ask someone else."  C.J. held his arms in front of him and stalked off moaning, doing a passable imitation of Frankenstein.

          "Wrong movie, C.J.," Chance called after the man.

          Matt looked back to Dr. Blackmoon.  "It feels like it was all a movie, but it wasn't, was it?"

          "No," she replied.  "It was real.  Very real."

          "That's what I was afraid you were going to say."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**The Silver Star**

**Hermosa Beach, CA**

**Three Days Later**

 

          C.J. stretched and yawned, then stood and walked over to turn the television off.

"They got it wrong, all wrong," he muttered as he stabbed the power button on the cable box, cutting short the credits on the classic zombie movie.  "I'm going to bed, Major," he called to Matt, who was sitting in his office, trying to get caught up with the accounting.

"Okay, good night," Shepherd called back.

The Brit turned around and jumped when he almost ran right into Benny Ray.  "Bloody hell," he gasped.  "Warn a body, would you?"

Benny Ray just groaned and stared unblinking into the shorter man's eyes.

"Benny Ray?" C.J. asked, his voice clearly worried.  He took a step back.  "Major!"

The sniper moaned and took a step forward, rolling his eyes.

          The explosive expert stepped back around the TV set and bolted for the stairs.  "Not funny!" he called back to the sniper, then disappeared up the stairs.

          Benny Ray heard Matt chuckle and turned around to find Shepherd leaning in the doorway of his office.  "Evenin'," he said.

          "How long do you plan on terrorizing C.J.?"

          Benny Ray shrugged and grinned, "Oh, another day, maybe two… until the fun wears off."

          Matt shook his head, then walked over to join the sniper.  "You're an evil man, Riddle.  Buy you a beer?"

          "Sure."

          They walked into the kitchen and Matt fished two bottles out of the refrigerator.  He handed one to Benny Ray, saying, "Honestly, how are you doing?"

          "Fine," the sniper replied.  "The doctors say I'm good to go."

          "And what do you say?"

          "I say I feel fine, and the dreams aren't too bad.  Not much else to say, Major.  I don't understand what happened, I just know that it did happen."

          Matt nodded.  "All this ooga-booga shit, it's… weird."

          "Too freakin' weird for a country boy like me."

          Matt leaned back against the counter and took a swallow before he said, "So why do I have a feeling you're holding out on me?"

          Benny Ray grinned.  "Well, Boss, it's like this, there ain't a southern town that don't have its ghosts and goblins."

          "And I'll just bet you ran into one or two."

          Another shrug.  "One or two."

          "I'd like to hear about it sometime."

          Benny Ray nodded and offered Shepherd a shy grin.  "Sometime… maybe after a few more of these."  He held his bottle up to toast Matt.

          "It's a date."

          "Hell, sir," Benny Ray replied, "in that case I'd rather tell Margo."

The End


End file.
